What It Really Means
by Hollyflower98
Summary: "There is a twinge of something in the bottom of my stomach, an emotion that I've never felt before. I quickly push away these thoughts and think of happy things, like my new purple sweat band." One-shot.


**Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N: My first fanfic for the 39 Clues! This has technically been betaed by my best friend, who does not have an account on this site. Oh, yes, Reagan and Madison are four.**

Madison and I sneer as Johnny falls to the ground, bawling his eyes out.

"That's what you get for messing with us!" Madison looks down her nose at the prone figure on the woodchips.

"We mess with you!" I jeer. We both laugh. Johnny sniffles, gets up, and runs away from us as fast as his little legs can carry him. Madison and I do a high-five, and then saunter over to where our parents pick us up.

As we walk by, everyone quickly jumps out of our way. When we were three and had first come here, we had soon made it clear throughout the day care that we were the top dogs, so to speak.

Our car pulls in on the opposite side of the road, so Hamilton gets out and runs over to us.

"So, did you have to deal with anyone today?" he asks as he reaches us, his eyebrows raised haughtily. We stand up, brushing dead grass off of our butts.

"Yep," Madison says smugly. "That crybaby Johnny. He made a smart remark about our track suits."

"But we sure showed him!" I say proudly.

"Atta girls!" Hamilton says with a grin. "Make sure that everyone knows you're in charge." At this point, we had reached the car, so we climb in and buckle our seat belts. As we pull away from the curb, I glance over to where other kids are being picked up. I notice Johnny crying in his mother's arms, with her trying to sooth him. There is a twinge of something in the bottom of my stomach, an emotion that I've never felt before. Unfamiliar is bad, so I quickly push away these thoughts and think of happy things, like my new purple sweat band at home.

The next day at day care, Miss Jenna pulls us outside, and we sit down at one of the lunch tables. She looks at us seriously.

"Girls," she says in her no-nonsense tone of voice. "Johnny's mother talked to me yesterday. She told me that you both punched Johnny and knocked him to the ground. Is this true?"

Madison sticks out her chin defiantly. "Johnny was rude to us," she states boldly. "He got what he deserved. Right, Reagan?"

"Yeah!" I chime in. Miss Jenna sighs and rubs her temples.

"Girls, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, we don't allow that type of behavior here!" she says, sounding more than a bit exasperated. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to call your parents about this. But first, you must both go and apologize to Johnny this instant." She leads us back inside and over to the corner, where Johnny is building with alphabet blocks. He looks up, frightened, as we walk toward him.

"Johnny, Reagan and Madison have something to say to you," Miss Jenna says when we reach him.

"We're sorry, Johnny," we mumble simultaneously as we stare at our shoes and kick at carpet lint. Johnny pales, whispers, "Okay," and then turns back to his blocks.

Pursing her lips, Miss Jenna walks back to her desk, calling to me and Madison over her shoulder. "That will be all, girls."

We walk back to our table, and Madison immediately starts planning what we should do to the next kid who wrongs us. I nod absentmindedly, but what I'm really thinking about is Johnny, and how miserable he looked. Again I felt that strange twinge in the bottom of my stomach.

"Reagan? Reagan? Hellooo?" Madison is trying to get my attention.

I blink. "Huh? Oh, right. Of course." Madison grins and starts talking again, and this time I jump right into the conversation. However, I make a silent vow to myself: That I will never, ever, let that twinge get in the way of anything; that I will never even think about it.

And I kept that vow. At least, for seven years, I did.

**A/N: Any and all constructive criticism is welcome! I know that I have much room to improve, and I will gladly follow any advice you may have to offer on how to become a better writer. Thank you! **

**I know that Reagan might not have thought the exact words that I wrote, but I wanted to be descriptive.**


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